


Goodbye to Romance

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, All POV's, Awkward Sexual Situations, Canon, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Dean is In Over His Head, Discussions of sex, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Humor, M/M, Making Out, Mild Sexual Content, Nervous Castiel, Nervous Dean, Sam Is So Done, Sam is a Sweetheart, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Sex in the Impala, Sexual Humor, Spoilers Up to 11x23, Supportive Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:59:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8448877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: "Yeah. No, I do. I have. Wanted it, I mean, for a while," Cas assures, and for an Angel of the Lord, clumsily. He knows this to be true. He can still remember his last time. April felt good, but she didn't feel right. With Dean, even without consummation, he's felt both. And, in the process of accepting his vessel as his own, he's come to realize his inhibitions, and the only person he trusts outside of himself to liberate those is Dean. Dean investigates Cas's expression for a moment before smiling and clamping a hand on Cas's shoulder with the small clearing of his throat, and Cas bets anything Dean feels deeply regretful now for not letting him take his temperature, "Alright. It's a date."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the Ozzy Osbourne song of the same name. Lyrics are used throughout.
> 
> If you wanna listen to the song while you read the final scene, be my guest. It might run a little short compared to the word count, but it should make it interesting!

Goodbye to Romance 

_“And I feel the time is right,_

_Although I know that you just might say to me_

_What'cha gonna do,_

_What'cha gonna do.”_

 

It starts out innocent enough.

Cas was just angling for a cheeseburger. And yes, Cas is unfortunately well aware he can’t taste anything beyond molecules, but the texture is still equal parts soft and satisfying, and it reminds him of humanity. Besides, if there’s anyone he does it for other than himself, it’s Jimmy.

Dean, Righteous may he be by Biblical standards, insists he scope out the parameters and taste the burgers for himself, claiming the area of Cas's burger place of choice is "in a bad area”.

When Cas calls him out, asking what's _really_ going on, Dean shifts a little in one of the hard library seats and glances around, as if checking for any ghosts or spirits that might be listening in. "It's a date, Cas," he says, and Cas tilts his head because Dean's forehead is turning inexplicably redder. "As in, you and me." Cas must be stiller than a cornfield during a long hot summer because Dean beseeches a moment later, "Give me a pulse, man. Anything. Something to let me know you're not gonna poof away any second."

"I... I don't have a—" Cas cuts himself off with a small laugh, facing Dean with a smile, "Yes. I would like that."

Dean takes a moment for processing, then laughs and scratches the back of his neck before looking at Cas with those emerald eyes, the ones that would usually spin galaxies inside them, if not for his pupils stretching wide, "Good. Alright, yeah. Tonight then. Meet me down here around eight. We'll leave in the Toblerone."

"Dean, I'm perfectly capable of driving myself," Cas notes, to which Dean purses his lips, confused.

"Why would we take separate cars?"

"Well, I was reading this article on Buzzfeed—don't ask me how their site relates to bees and pollination—"

"Alright, I get it, you're an independent woman," Dean scoffs. "But we're definitely driving back in the Impala."

Cas inches his head to the side, eyeing the hunter in question. "Alright, I just don't understand why we would—" Cas stops, watching as Dean's eyes rake over Cas's frame and his tongue barely swipes across his bottom lip the way the ocean water laps onto the shore, just barely kissing it because _kissing_ , kissing and touching and caressing eventually leads to—"O-oh. Right. My apologies."

Dean's demeanor changes instantly as he stands up so sharply, he nearly trips over the corner of the table. "I mean, if that's what you want too. Hell, I’m friggin’ stoked just being with you.” Dean closes his eyes and cringes a little, and Cas just wants to get half of it done and kiss him right then and there, if only to release Dean from his rigid state of embarrassment. “It’s just, after Amara and everything it seems wrong to waste any more time.”

"Yeah. No, I do. I have. Wanted it, I mean, for a while," Cas assures, and for an Angel of the Lord, clumsily. He knows this to be true. He can still remember his last time. April felt good, but she didn't feel right. In the process of accepting his vessel as his own, he's come to realize his inhibitions, and the only person he trusts outside of himself to liberate those is Dean.

Dean investigates Cas's expression for a moment before smiling and clamping a hand on Cas's shoulder with the small clearing of his throat, and Cas bets anything Dean feels deeply regretful now for not letting him take his temperature, "Alright. It's a date."

***

“This isn’t funny, Samuel!”

Sam’s laughter gets cut short from a sigh that comes from the trenches of his long throat. Twelve years and he gets promoted from Sammy, the chubby twelve-year-old, to Samuel, the lean, mean seventy-year-old who _warns_ chubby twelve-year-olds to stay off his lawn. Super.

“It’s not…” Sam shakes his head, saving whatever breath he hasn’t already used berating his brother for the same matter. “Alright, I’ll bite, what’s so bad about sleeping with Dean? You afraid you gonna slip a little angel mojo inside him or something?”

Cas does that squint with his eyes akin to a cat after getting hosed. “That’s impossible, only through possession can that occur, and it usually doesn’t show up until much later.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

“Sam, please,” Cas begs. “Dean, he’s… I don’t know. He’s different. You of all people should know that.”

Sam huffs a small laugh, “Touche. What about with April? What did you call it, an ‘educational’ experience?”

“Yes, but—”

“She wasn’t Dean,” Sam finishes, nodding as he scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay, first of all, your angel blade isn’t going to fend off STDs, so stock up on condoms.”

“You mean those plastic things named after the horse used to storm Troy?”

Sam throws his head back, impressed. “Yeah. I mean, they aren’t all named—wait, where did you—?”

“Dean left a tab open on his laptop several months back.”

Sam laughs, “Thank God for Busty Asian Beauties.”

Cas bites his lip, “Actually…”

Sam’s eyes blow wide and a triumphant smirk crosses his face. “Huh. I guess he _is_ strictly into dick now,” Sam scoffs, to which Cas tilts his head. “It’s… never mind. So, um, I don’t know… be yourself?”

“Be myself?” Cas repeats, annoyance laced in his tone. “How’s that going to work when my face is going to be smashed against the upholstery?”

Sam shakes his head, because _Chuck, wherever you are, thanks, you asshole,_ that is _not_ a picture he needed. Dean wins; he can have his beer in the backseat from now on. Smoothies are totally ruined for him. “I honestly don’t have any other advice, man. It’s just kind of something that happens with the right person, you know? Everything up until that point just…” Sam pauses, remembering Amelia, then looks to the ground.

Cas frowns. “I’m sorry, Sam. I wish there was something I could do.”

After a moment, Sam looks up and says, “There is. Do us both a favor, and make my brother happy—you too.”

Cas just smiles. “I think we’ve already established that.”

***

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. _Why_ did he promise Cas an alternate music video roleplay of “Night Moves”? Dean can’t even promise he’ll watch the latest episode of _The Walking Dead._

What’s even more stupid is why he doubts himself. This is one of his areas of expertise—one of his _only,_ for that matter. Mythology and lore and religion and demonology is just something he had to school himself in over the years for basic survival. But sex, sex is more than survival. Sex is an art, a code: With the right combination of pressure and pleasure, everything clicks into place.

Then again, come to think of it, every aspect of he and Cas’s relationship up to this point has been physical. How did Cas coin it? “Gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition”? Combine that with every time Cas has grabbed his shoulder, Dean’s cradled Cas’s face in his cursed hands—even the times they’ve just friggin’ stared at each other for who knows how long before turning away. (Hopefully not Chuck. That would be super awkward.) So what more is sex?

Right?

Wrong. Cas is more than a feel-good. Cas is blue eyes that stretch like sky for miles, messy brown hair, the little head tilt he does when he’s confused, the crooked tie around his neck—the way he says Dean’s name. Urgent, it’s always urgent, no matter the circumstance. Like a heartbeat away isn’t close enough.

And maybe it isn’t. Maybe that’s why they both need this.

Dean looks at himself in the mirror and sighs. He adjusts the collar on the blazer he’s wearing over the open red flannel shirt, which probably looks ridiculous, but he doesn’t feel like ditching all of that for the white, loose-fitting shirt underneath. Just because Cas rebuilt his body from scratch doesn’t mean Dean gets to be a douchebag about his figure. He’s not even packing much—the only rack he’ll ever go out of his way to get is of beer. What did that one chick call it? His “dad bod”? Whatever that means.

Dragging a wet comb through his hair one last time, he takes a deep breath and heads towards the door.

***

Dean's all smiles when they get back to the car: "Well, that was fun, huh?" he asks, sliding into the leather.

Cas nods, head a little more weightless than before. The burgers turned out to be fantastic, passing Dean's taste test with flying condiments. Literally, at one point ketchup shot out from between the plush sesame buns as Dean took a hearty bite, leaving Cas to dab his tie with a moist napkin. The stain still hasn't come out, but Cas didn't seem to care in the moment when his eyes locked on Dean again, his green eyes wide, cheeks stuffed to the brim like a squirrel packing for the harshest winter and painted red to keep out the cold.

"It was, but you didn't have to pay, Dean."

"Well, technically, this one was on _John Schroeder_ ," replies Dean with a shy smirk, an unmistakable gleam in his eye as he adds, "but if I had, I would've wanted to."

Cas blushes, and that’s when everything passes through a yellow light, Dean’s eyes meeting Cas’s then down to his lips, smile dripping as both their mouths suddenly go parched—even the bassline to Ozzy Osbourne’s “Goodbye to Romance” over the stereo sounds warped at half-speed.

Then they’re leaning in, and it feels like one of those dreams where you’re free falling through the air just before you wake up, except Cas isn’t falling so much as flying— _actually_ flying, not teleportation.

Their lips meet, and that’s like breaking through the surface of water for the first time. Dean’s lips feel like the very thing he rebelled against, until they part and press just a little more, then they’re just plain wicked. Cas complies, opening his mouth a little wider as his hand cups Dean’s face, and he finds he has the same conflict, because he wants to hold everything about this moment, but he also wants Dean impossibly closer.

The internal conflict is pretty much over when Dean draws him by his waist.

Cas tries to bite back his exhilaration, but instead bites Dean’s lower lip. “ _Jesus,”_ Dean curses, green eyes blown wide as he presses lightly against the afflicted flesh.

Cas pulls back. “Dean, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“That was friggin’ _hot_.”

Cas’s mouth parts, then he apologizes again, this time the proper way: diving back into the kiss, full force.

After another minute of a much more heated make out session, in which Cas somehow ends up on top of Dean, clothes rumpled as he moves against him with enough friction to shock an entire NBA team, Dean mumbles, “You wanna take this to the-uh, the thing opposite the front seat?”

“The backseat?”

Dean nods as he catches his breath, “Yeah… that sounds right.”

Cas climbs over first, out of courtesy of his partner. Dean follows, hitting his head against the overhead light. “Agh, son of a bitch!” he hisses, clutching his head after pounding the light off.

Cas is quick on his feet, carefully prying Dean’s hands away. “Dean, are you okay?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean grumbles with a child-like pout.

Cas smiles, leaning over the backrest enough to kiss the top of Dean’s head. The simple action seems to alleviate Dean’s distress, especially when Cas starts kissing a line from there to his temple, the fatty part of his ear, his jawline, and his neck. He stays there, loving the sounds he elicits from Dean. Dean lets his head fall back, giving Cas free range. Cas’s kisses go from small and delicate to large and succulent, imparting him with a ruby necklace made up entirely of hickeys across his throat.

Eventually, Cas pulls him back to Earth, using both his hands this time to bring Dean’s face to his in another soft kiss. Dean kisses back, shrugging out of his blazer as he successfully moves to the back. Cas does the same with his trenchcoat, until Dean detaches them, all but growling, “ _No._ Keep it on.”

And if that doesn’t make the hair on the back of Cas’s neck stand up.

So instead, Cas helps Dean out of his flannel as Dean rests on top of him as they kiss, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, except they have to break away when the last button refuses to come off. Dean doesn’t bother sitting up, just rips the shirt open and tosses it over the backrest like it’s made of paper.

Cas grips the surrounding leather as Dean somewhat reluctantly breaks from their kiss again, this time to drip them along the line of Cas’s frame, and Cas would laugh at the easiness _his_ white sleeve shirt unbuttons in Dean’s deft hands _could_ he muster anything other than a whimper with Dean’s lips on his collarbone, his chest, his abdomen, the latter of which hits just the right spot that his leg jerks and slams in-between the backrest and the side door, causing it to get stuck.

“Oh-oh no,” Cas frets, trying to shake it out.

Luckily, with Dean’s help, it comes out. While Cas lay embarrassed to his core, Dean bursts out in spontaneous laughter similar to the night outside of that den of inequity years prior before falling beside Cas.

Cas can’t help it, he laughs too.

“Obviously, an obvious higher power doesn’t want either of us to get laid.”

Cas scoffs, “Dean, with as many times as he’s brought me back, I think we can’t blame my father for this.”

“Ah, oh well,” Dean sighs, as he snuggles into Cas’s chest, “there’s always another eight years from now.”

“Mmm, guess we’ll have to start building up to it, then.”

The smile Dean gives Cas after he says that is bright enough to light up the night sky before Cas kisses it off.

 

 

_“And the weather's looking fine,_

_And I think the sun will shine again,_

_And I feel I've cleared my mind,_

_All the past is left behind again.”_

 

 


End file.
